Perfection
by Testament
Summary: Obsession can become a very bad thing...


  
  


Perfection  
  


By: Testament  
  


Disclaimers: All characters, settings and etc...are the property of their respective companies. Oh yeah, the story idea is mine.  
  


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The chamber was dark, illuminated only by the multiple view screens situated around an ornate throne of sorts. 

The soft hazy glow highlighted a pale angular face, shadows long and thin chasing each other across the expanse of smooth perfect skin. Strands of midnight blue hair drifted lazily across a forehead marred only by the placement of azure tinted glasses, their position causing the silky strands to brush up against skin playfully. Reflected in the numerous panels that hovered about the room was a slender figure that was currently slouched carelessly in the wide embrace of the single piece of furniture that occupied the chamber. 

  
  


An exquisite outfit clothed the figure. 

  
  


Tarnished gold pieces fixed a trailing clothe to the person's bosom, effectively creating a cape of sorts. Elegantly decorated silk adorned the body in the form of a tight shirt and equally tight pants. Heavy black boots were the only item that contrasted this image of elegance. Their very presence added the only sense of realism amongst this outfit. All in all, a person looking upon this figure would be reminded of the haughty royalty of old and their fancy preference in clothing. However, the person took no notice of his luxurious outfit, either that, or he didn't care. 

  
  


Glazed violet eyes were fixated upon nothingness, their endless pools of multifaceted shades comprehending something beyond the reach of normal human capacity. One gloved hand rested idly upon the velvet armrest, the other fingered an ebony digivice, the index finger tracing random mindless patterns on the glowing screen. The hand clenched and unclenched around the small machine, it's movements erratic and somewhat compulsive in behavior. With a slight sigh the figure straightened, his hand slipping the inky black device into a pocket. The movement was graceful and smooth, the simple motion belying a comfortable practiced ease. As he sat up, a single glass panel caught his image, that of a hauntingly beautiful male, whose youth only emphasized the impression of perfect statuesque magnificence. 

  
  


Indeed Ken Ichijouji had looks that would have stunned most females. In fact, most girls would have killed just for a chance to earn a slight glance from him. However, Ken was not concerned with the petty pleasures of the flesh. Carnal satisfaction was the farthest thing from his thoughts. He was the digimon emperor, the iron fist that ruled this artificial world. The epitome of perfection, a modern prodigy whose genius was surpassed only by his cruel efficiency. Pale lips curled contemptuously as thoughts of love and companionship crossed his mind. The digimon emperor had no need for these idealistic thoughts. Therefore, he wiped the intruding ideas from his mind, pushing them into the dark recesses of his subconscious. 

  
  


Thoughts like those interfered with perfection, Ken mused, and perfection was everything. 

  
  


And with those ideas fading from his mind, Ken once again turned to his previous train of thought, perfection. Or rather, how to achieve that blissful state. 

"Worthless junk", the digimon emperor snarled, his gaze raking critically over the object of his scorn. 

Lines of glowing text scrolled down semi-clear screens, their numbers and letters meticulously detailing numerous statistics. Next to those staggeringly complicated statistics a three dimensional globe spun, a veritable replica of the digital world. Continents glowed a shade of pure gold, some bright and some dull. The bright glow outnumbered the dullness by far, and yet it was those few isolated patches that sparked Ken's fury. 

"Damned bastards...", Ken muttered, his pale violet eyes narrowing in a combination of disgust, rage and contempt. 

That and much more harsher expletives escaped the emperor's lips, all of it directed at the pestilence that plagued his attempts at perfection. Specifically, the pestilence known as the digi-destined. Those meddling fools had just liberated another encampment of slaving digimon. His cameras and sensors caught it all. He watched the recently freed workers run about in pure joy, totally unorganized chaos. He watched as his master creation, the dark rings, crumbled, their power fading. This in turn led to the spark of hope and sentience thought that flickered in the previously dim eyes of those very same digimon. And to make things worse, those idealistic idiots were now turning to destroy his glorious dark tower. Ken's eyes darkened and his gloved hand clenched tightly as the ebony monolith dissolved in flames, the pure black stone cracking and fusing in the heat. The digimon emperor waved a hand imperiously, he had seen enough. 

The screen disappeared, fading out of existence. The black clothed youth stood up, his lithe form rustling softly against those very same clothes. One hand clutched a sinister looking whip, it's length coiling and winding as if it had a life of it's own. The other hand flicked a nearby switch. The lights that had been dimmed flared into full existence, the sudden brightness eliminating the squirming darkness that had embraced the room. The second function of the switch also activated. The effects were not immediately visible, but a moment later the hissing of well oiled hydraulics was heard. 

  
  


The steel entrance to the room slowly widened, the heavy metal forced apart by the recently activated switch. Ken did not bother to turn around as he heard the scuttling clack of multiple feet. Only one other being even knew of this room's existence, and that was the digimon known as Wormmon. For some obscure reason, Ken found that this particular digimon did not disgust him as much as the other foul creatures. Filing this particular thought away from later examination, Ken addressed the waiting digimon. 

"Those annoying digidestined have yet again claimed another one of my outposts." Ken's voice was quiet and genial, yet the promise of violence and anger hung thick in the air. 

  
  


Wormmon, sensing this malevolence, was quick to reply. 

"Well, we already have a troop of Seadramon heading in that direction and with that many soldiers, the digi-destined should be crushed beneath your heel..." 

"Enough!!," Ken's voice thundered, cutting the digimon off. 

  
  


The youth whirled around, facing the startled creature. A second later, Wormmon flinched as the whip that had been coiled at his master's feet snapped and arched off the marble panel, inches away from his face. Shards of splintered stone stung the digimon as the whip's force and velocity caused the marble to shatter. Looking up, the frightened Wormmon saw a vision that made his synthetic blood run cold, the anger and pure hate had turned the digimon emperor into a visage of terrifying proportions. 

  
  


Strands of silken azure hair hung askew, framing violent eyes that blazed with a mad fury. The emperor's left hand quivered visibly, clenching and unclenching the handle of the whip as if to throttle the inanimate object. Wormmon remains quiet and submissive, knowing that anything done at this point would only serve to agitate the youth even more. So he waited. And the anger disappeared like it always did. Ken was much too attached to perfection to be able too display such rash emotions for long. Wormmon watched as the digimon emperor composed himself. The boy smoothed the awry strands of hair and pushed up the tinted glasses which had slipped during his rage. Turning around, Ken spoke absently to Wormmon. 

"Make sure you report to me after the squad reaches those fools.", he murmured, his mind already working at another scheme, another method to bring him closer to his ultimate goal. 

Perfection. 

He waited until he heard the doors slide shut, and then the youth sat back in his chair, propping his chin up with a single gloved fist. Ken's eyes were already glazed, his mind entranced with a drug far more potent then cocaine. A drug called obsession. 

Perfection. 

The boy's lips mouthed the word silently as if offering some sacred prayer. 

Perfection.  
  
  
  


Author's Notes: Well, this one shot kinda developed bit by bit. Lost enthusiasm right 'round the middle. Finished it because I hate unfinished business. Kind of an experiment fic. To see how good I can write when I don't feel like it. Well, tell me what you think, m'kay?


End file.
